


peaces and blessings

by thescrewtapedemos



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Drabble, Gotham-esque Noir, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Vigilantism, super not happy dudez
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: There's blood on his hands and it's- shit, it's fine. It's okay. It's the price he pays so that others don't, and the ends are worth the means.





	peaces and blessings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steelwing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelwing/gifts).



> once upon a time i swore i'd never write mcr but here we are and there this is. thank u moliver for my life. part of an insane expanded au 2 b expanded
> 
> enjoy xoxo

Gerard’s out on the landing again, cigarette smoking away by his shoe. His head is hanging, there’s a sharpie loose in his fist, but he jolts up when Frank edges around him. He hadn’t been sleeping, but there are circles under his eyes like bruises and Frank kind of hopes he’ll sleep soon. On the couch would be better but at least the stairwell is mostly safe. 

Thanks to _Frank_ , and he snarls at the thought. Gerard stares up at him and then bends back to his shoes. 

Frank keeps walking. He doesn’t need to hurt Gerard, not with this, not today. He’s too sharp inside, he can feel it like knives pressing against his skin, trying to get _out_. 

The door slams behind him. It’s a little satisfying, a little infuriating. He bites down on the inside of his cheek and toes his shoes off with deliberate care. 

“Frank?” Mikey calls from the kitchen. “Gee?” 

Frank doesn’t answer but he does follow Mikey’s voice. The hallway to the kitchen smells like grilled cheese and old coffee and a hint of the chocolate chip cookies Mikey had been making what feels like a lifetime ago. It should be soothing - it is soothing usually, it means home and Mikey and safety, the kind of safety that means Frank can rest - but it isn’t today. 

He grits his teeth. Turns the corner into the kitchen and finds Mikey standing at the stove. There’s a pan on the burner, a grilled cheese hissing softly. The window’s open to let out the fumes and it’s perfect, not too hot or cold. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice comes out short, tense. Mikey turns to look at him and Frank knows he’s noticed but he doesn’t say anything. He just blinks and turns back to flip the grilled cheese. 

“Hey,” he replies after a moment, slow and unbothered. “Want one?” 

He’s hungry, Frank realizes belatedly, he’s kind of _starving_. 

It takes some of the fury out of him. Sucked out like poison. It leaves him empty, echoing a little with the abruptness of it. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Thanks. Vegan cheese.” 

“I remember,” Mikey chides softly and flips his own grilled cheese onto the plate. Frank settles on the chair in the corner, watches him grease up the pan again and rummage in the fridge after the vegan cheese. His hands are deft piling the sandwich together and Frank relaxes even further watching him. 

It’s so silent as Mikey slides the fresh sandwich into the pan and reaches for his own. He eats and it’s still silent, no one says a word. No one is silent like Mikey. Frank knows this, knows Mikey wears silence like clothes, natural and comfortable. It feels a little expectant but still so peaceful. 

“I’m doing the right thing,” he says. It’s not a question except that it is, it always is. 

Mikey blinks slows, takes another bite. Chews slowly and swallows. Takes another bite. He’s not looking at Frank exactly but Frank knows Mikey’s paying attention. 

Mikey reaches out to flip Frank’s grilled cheese. 

“Right?” he asks at last and he regrets it as soon as the word slips from his lips. 

Mikey doesn’t say anything for a long time but he does pause. Spatula frozen in the air before he sets it aside. 

“Do you think so?” he asks at last. 

“Yes,” Frank answers instantly, viscerally, he _knows_ he’s right. He knows it in his bones, in his soul. He knows he’s doing good. He knows it. 

Mikey’s looking at him and there’s something complicated in his gaze, curiosity, he’s opening his mouth to ask a question when the front door opens with the familiar sound of Gerard stumbling over Frank’s shoes. The questions falls away from Mikey’s gaze with the noise and the air is clear suddenly, the gathering storm passed. The knives are retreating from inside Frank and it’s okay. 

It’s okay.


End file.
